


Just Make It Easy (Go on and Give All You Got)

by marauders_groupie



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 18:36:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5259392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marauders_groupie/pseuds/marauders_groupie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing you need to know about Bellamy Blake is that he's in love with his best friend, Clarke Griffin. The second thing is that he can't stop himself from doing anything to make her happy. Even if that means posing as her boyfriend at her ex-girlfriend's wedding. </p><p>He should have known better. </p><p>**</p><p>Bellarke fake dating AU. You've been warned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Make It Easy (Go on and Give All You Got)

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so a huge thanks to [lushatrocity](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lushatrocity) whose suggestion finally gave me the strength to write my take on fake dating for Bellarke. 
> 
> I'm not even going to pretend like I didn't start writing the moment you mentioned it, babe. I'm gonna keep that little bit of dignity I have left. 
> 
> You all can expect bedsharing, pining, falling in love, Bellamy naming his cat Bastet and Clarke being the big spoon. You can thank me later.
> 
> The title is from Jetta - Take It Easy. Yes, I have a thing for her, thank you for noticing. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“You don’t happen to know anyone who’d want to date me, do you, Bellamy?”

Out of all the things Bellamy Blake has heard in two years he has been friends with Clarke Griffin, this has got to be the weirdest one – and the list even includes Clarke standing on top of her coffee table and singing La Marseillaise at the top of her lungs.

But there she is, standing in the middle of his kitchen and opening a wine bottle with a pout.

“I’m not sure I heard that right.”

“Do you or do you not know of anyone who would want to date me?” she repeats, grunting as she finally pulls out the cork.

Bellamy hands her two glasses, their Thursday night tradition – get drunk on cheap wine, watch Keeping up with the Kardashians and trash-talk Bellamy’s editor and Clarke’s students.

He is thirty-two and she is twenty-eight and they’re a mess. A hot one, though.

“And uh, where’s this coming from?” he asks, still slightly unsure of what’s going on.

Is this a prank?

This _might_ be a prank.

“Lexa is getting married. And she thought inviting me was a great idea.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes because they have talked about this and he advised her not to RSVP.

But Clarke being Clarke, she couldn’t say no to a challenge because “I’m the bigger person, Bellamy. In this breakup, I’m the bigger person.”

He honestly thinks it was ridiculous because he still remembers how wrecked Clarke was after Lexa had broken up with her via a letter left on the bed in their apartment, a week before their anniversary. He still remembers Clarke showing up on his doorstep in the middle of the night, shaking like a leaf and alternating between being devastatingly angry and heart-wrenchingly sad.

“What else is new?”

Clarke’s cheeks redden and Bellamy just knows, he _knows_ that she’s about to admit to doing something she knows doesn’t make sense.

“I may or may not have RSVP’d with a plus one.”

“Clarke,” he warns.

“Alright, so I was drunk and it was petty! But I can’t back down now, that’s just ridiculous,” she rolls her eyes, as if that is a given. “That’d make Lexa scoff and say something like ‘Love is weakness, Clarke’ or ‘Love is not for the weak’ or –“

Bellamy raises his hand, cutting her off. “And now you need someone to date you?”

Clarke nods and then huffs, plopping down on the couch with the bottle in her hand.

She looks like a kicked puppy and Bellamy can’t help himself. He’s trying, really trying because she is his best friend and it would _never_ work but –

At the end of the day, he’s reckless and stupid, his heart too big for his body and he can’t stop himself from doing anything that would make her feel better.

“I could do it,” he offers when she’s snuggled into his side. They’re like this, always have been, all casual affection and he doesn’t mind, hasn’t minded even when he wasn’t in love with her.

Which he is. And it’s so pathetic that Octavia gags every time Clarke turns her back.

“Do what?” Clarke asks absent-mindedly, her eyes glued to the TV where Honey Boo Boo explains what being on Toddlers and Tiaras means to her.

So they’re trash. Fine.

“You know, that _thing_.”

Clarke blinks at him, confused, and then it must dawn on her because her eyes widen almost comically and Bellamy wishes he hadn’t said anything.

“Date me?”

“Or pretend to,” he rushes to explain, trying to fake nonchalance. “We’re friends, I wouldn’t mind helping you out.”

“Right,” Clarke worries her lower lip, averting her gaze for just a second before nodding. “Well, if you’re sure?”

Bellamy squeezes her shoulder in reassurance and tries to ignore the way his stomach drops when he sees the disappointment written clear across her face.

 

**

 

“The Proposal.”

“She’s not my boss.”

“Easy A.”

“You know she’s bi and proud of it.”

“Pretty Woman.”

“Do you think your brother is a prostitute, Octavia?”

Octavia Blake rolls her eyes and pokes Bellamy with a straw. Ever since he told her that he’s going to help Clarke with her Lexa situation, she’s been at it nonstop, making sure that he’s aware how horribly romcom this sounds.

“Just Go With It.”

“Not my assistant and she doesn’t want to fake ever having been married to me.”

Octavia grins wryly at him. “You know what all of these have in common, right, Bell?”

He loves his sister. He loves his sister. He loves his sister, she is the light of his life, he’s not going to groan. He loves his –

Fuck it.

Bellamy lets out a long-suffering groan. “Why did I ever show those movies to you?”

“Because you’re a sap,” Octavia reasons. “And you didn’t answer my question. Do you know what they have in common?”

Bellamy stays quiet, pretending to be really invested into making his coffee.

“That’s right,” Octavia tells him. “They get together at the end. They get _together_ , Bell.”

He pours them coffee and carefully phrases his following words, knowing that his sister has a sharp smile and sharper wit. Which somehow always turns against him.

“Clarke doesn’t like me that way and I’m not gonna be a fedora-wearing asshole, O. I’m just helping her out. I’m not going to expect anything in return because, like I said, I’m an asshole but not that sort of asshole.”

“I didn’t say you should expect anything. I’m just saying – that’s how it always ends. And well, that works out just fine for you, right?”

He never should have told Octavia that he was in love with Clarke. But to be honest, it just took him by surprise and he needed his sister’s input. The fact that the input turned into merciless teasing is a whole different story.

“Like I was saying,” he glares at her pointedly, “I’m going to need you to feed Bastet while I’m gone.”

 His cat chooses that exact moment to hop in Octavia’s lap and start purring. Octavia runs her fingers through her fur and smiles at Bellamy, “Bats and I will be fine. You, however, I’m worried about.”

“You don’t have to be. I _like_ Clarke. This is a friend thing, we’re friends no matter what.”

Octavia hums, but doesn’t look impressed. “We’ll make fun of Bell, won’t we, Bats? Yes we will, yes we will!”

“You’re horrible.”

Octavia’s voice is threatening when she speaks. “I’m _lovely_.”

 

**

 

Clarke is all nerves when Octavia drops them off at La Guardia, saying, “Have fun, nerds.” They’re supposed to be on the 2.30 plane to Sacramento because Lexa’s fiancée is apparently from Napa Valley and they decided that a spring wedding in a vineyard is what they’re all about.

That means three days of wine-tasting and basking in the sun, but it also means three whole days of being with Clarke. But he can handle it. Bellamy can definitely handle it.

“We have to come up with a backstory,” she tells him as she tugs her suitcase behind her towards the check-in terminals. “Because Lexa knows you, obviously, and I have no idea if she’s going to buy into us being together and now-“

“Clarke,” he interjects, stopping to get her to calm down. She looks at him, wide-eyed and panicked. “It’s going to be alright. We can do this.”

She sighs and Bellamy really wants to hug her without it being weird. Because she’s like this – she’s always worried something bad is going to happen, as if she thinks nothing can be good without a price to pay.

“Can we, Bellamy? Because I’m not sure – maybe I should have cancelled.”

Bellamy chuckles and tucks a stray curl behind her ear. “Let’s look at it this way – three days of sun, wine and fun. We probably won’t even see Lexa more than once.”

Clarke considers it, worrying her lower lip and then nods. “Sun, wine and fun. A little bit of Lexa. Alright, that I can handle.”

And when she smiles at him in relief, he’s not so sure that he can.

 

Two hours later, right as he’s getting to the main plot twist of the novel he’s currently working on, Clarke turns to him in the cramped space of the airplane cabin and says, “But we should come up with a backstory.”

“Alright.”

He shuts his laptop, takes off his glasses and turns to look at her. She’s not as nervous as she was when they were boarding the plane but she’s definitely coming up with a plan. That’s Clarke Griffin – proactive at all times.

“So, what’s it gonna be? You just saw me one day and realized how devastatingly handsome I was?” he waggles his eyebrows and she swats at his hand playfully.

“I was thinking we both realized it at the same time. I broke up with Lexa two years ago, right? So,” she considers it, cogs turning in her head practically visible, “a year is enough time to get over her. The trivia night at Grounders. That’s when we got together.”

“The one in October?” he asks, panic building up in his chest.

Clarke nods. “We got into a huge fight and one thing lead to another and,” she blushes just a bit, “well. It happened.”

Bellamy wants to laugh and cry, not sure which of the two feel more appropriate because that _is_ the night he realized he was in love with her. The two of them always fought during trivia nights in their favorite bar, both of them being sore losers and mean winners, and it was that night that he gasped when he realized what exactly it meant to want to kiss away the angry look off of her face.

And now she’s saying that it’s the night they could have gotten together for the sake of their story, and it’s just so goddamn tragicomic.

He is in love with her. He is in love with her because she is not lukewarm, but a mixture of absolute extremes. Searing hot or frost-biting cold, soft words or loud swearing, frizzy hair and paint-splattered shorts or a suit and a crown-like braid in her hair.

Clarke Griffin is like other girls but the difference is that he loves her, loves her for how her sweater falls off her shoulder and he wants to kiss it, loves her for the pitch of her laughter and crude jokes and righteousness and he even loves her when she’s Dumbledore-apologetic.

“Makes sense,” he finally says, still a little dazed. And then he seems to come to his senses because he decides to grin and lift the sudden tension between them. “I _have_ been told I’m hot when I’m all riled up.”

She laughs and they leave it at that but Bellamy stares at the blank page ready to be filled up with words in front of him – but the only one he can think of is “Clarke”.

 

**

 

“Clarke Griffin and a plus one?” the receptionist at the front desk of a nice-looking hotel they’ll spend two nights in asks, and Clarke nods.

Bellamy is watching her rap her fingertips against the counter, looking around with her lips in a thin line. He’s at least trying not to look too obvious about being on a lookout for Lexa, so he winds an arm around her waist and pulls her in slightly.

She relaxes immediately, leaning into his side. “Thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

The receptionist hands her the keycard and the list of wedding activities. “The rehearsal dinner for Woods-Audino wedding is tonight at eight pm, preceded by a cocktail party at six.”

“We’ll be there, thank you,” Clarke assures the woman, stuffing the keycard in her pocket and turning away from the reception to frown at the paper. “There is a luncheon tomorrow, and the wedding is at six.”

“Enough time to get drunk in between,” Bellamy offers and Clarke laughs.

“Thank God.”

 

Their room is huge and full of light, along with a terrace overlooking the vineyards surrounding them. Bellamy takes the chance to observe the landscape, reveling in the fact that this might help him write that damned novel that’s sucking the life out of him.

He never should’ve gotten into writing after university and he only has himself to blame for deciding to start a series of books exploring various national mythologies from a modern angle. Most of the time he loves it, loves the fact that he’s got teens coming up to him during book signings, thanking him for introducing them to something they’ve considered boring before.

His heart always swells with pride and he knows why he’s doing what he’s doing. But then there are days when he’s lost for words and he can’t write a single line.

Bellamy is still standing on the terrace when Clarke’s voice snaps him out of his reverie. “So, about the bed – “

The problem is that there is only one double bed. It’s big enough for both of them to sleep on it comfortably, without even touching, but they’ve never done this and yes, Bellamy can see how that might be awkward.

“I’ll sleep on the sofa,” he says, stepping back into the room where Clarke is standing in front of the bed and frowning.

She actually frowns a whole lot for an elementary school art teacher.

“No, it’s fine. We can share.”

“We don’t have to, I’m sure the sofa is perfectly comfortable.”

“Bellamy,” she turns to look at him. “We are two grown-ass adults and we can share a bed.”

Her glare leaves no room for debate.

 

 

 

 

**

 

Bellamy is fighting with both his tie and Octavia when Clarke leaves for the bathroom to get ready. He’s got a suit so he’s not all that worried but he knows how she feels about looking her best. This is a matter of pride.

(Not that he thinks that she doesn’t look her very best even in her pajamas and with a bird’s nest on her head.)

But his phone is beeping constantly, Octavia sending him texts and photos of having fun with his cat – it includes Bastet with a chef’s hat on top of her head, Bastet lounging on the couch with a remote control (“ _She couldn’t wait to switch off the History Channel, stop torturing your cat, Bell_ ”) and Bastet on Octavia’s shoulder.

_Did you two make out yet?_

_Or are you crying?_

_Are you crying, Bell? Because I’m going to tell you I told you so._

He tries to focus on getting ready but he’s still sitting on the bed, half-dressed, when Clarke comes out of the bathroom.

His jaw drops involuntarily when he sees her in a midnight blue dress barely reaching to her knees. She’s beautiful, she’s beautiful even when she’s a tired mess, but this is stunning and he can’t get himself to stop staring.

Clarke just smiles at him. “I clean up nicely, right?”

“This – you, you look great,” he sputters. “It’s really something.”

“Mm,” she hums, stepping closer to where he is and when her hands find their way to the lapels of his jacket, he swallows hard. “You need help with that?”

He looks down and up so fast that their heads nearly collide and Clarke laughs, her own specific laughter he’s glad to hear because it means she isn’t that worried anymore.

“With the tie, I mean,” she clarifies, smirking.

“Sure, yeah.”

It’s moments like these that make him question his sanity because it’s impossible for her hands brushing against his skin to tug on his heartstrings that much and it’s impossible that he gets the impulse to kiss her whenever she's near.

Because he’s thirty-two years old and he feels like a schoolboy when it gets this bad. His crush normally alternates between barely there and happy to even have her hang out with him, and delirious _wanting_.

“There. Perfect.”

He sneaks a look towards the mirror and sees Clarke standing next to him with a huge smile on her face. It’s almost enough to pretend that they’re just a regular couple attending a friend’s wedding, love between them mutual and nothing at all to worry about.

It’s not, though. But that doesn’t mean that Bellamy is not happy to have her next to him, even in a strictly friendly manner.

 

 

The hall is brimming with people and Clarke begrudgingly admits, “Fuck. She always was good with color palettes.”

Bellamy hands her a flute of champagne as they stroll around the room, keeping an eye out for Lexa and her fiancée, Costia. The two of them are standing in the middle of the room talking to two intimidating-looking people. Bellamy figures they’ve got to be Lexa’s relatives, mostly because they’re hot and threatening.

“That’s Anya and Gustus,” Clarke tells him, her fingers tightening around the glass. “Anya is Lexa’s best friend and Gustus is Lexa’s brother. Basically, watch out for them.”

“We’re not gonna go say hi?”

Clarke stares at him. “Do you have a death wish?”

Bellamy figures that he doesn’t, not yet, because then his editor would revive him and kill him again, so the two of them just walk around admiring the decorations and gossiping.

“Lexa met Costia in Italy. I guess that’s as far as she could get away from me.”

“Do you miss her?” he asks and there’s a split of second in which he wants to take the question back.

But Clarke simply shakes her head. “Not really. I miss good moments we had but ultimately, we weren’t meant to be.”

It’s half an hour before Lexa spots them and beelines towards the corner they’ve pronounced as their own.

“I am so glad you could make it, Clarke,” she says and Bellamy feels Clarke tensing up next to him so he drapes his arm across her shoulders.

Lexa notices and then she smirks. She actually _smirks_.

“Finally. It took you two long enough.”

If Clarke is as startled as Bellamy feels, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she presses closer into his side and leans her head on his chest just a bit. He’s trying to ignore how bittersweet it feels. 

“Better late than never, right?”

“Absolutely,” Lexa confirms. “Come meet Costia.”

Costia Audino is funny, charming and soft where Lexa is sharp corners, and it’s hard for Bellamy and Clarke not to love her immediately.

“But we needed a vacation, you know?” she confides in Clarke, mock-gossiping Lexa who rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Lexa works too much. And then we figured, yeah, let’s get hitched.”

“Well, thank you for inviting us, we needed a vacation, too. Bellamy is elbows-deep in his novel and I swear he talks about the characters in his sleep,” Clarke humble-brags and Bellamy barely stops himself from laughing out loud because she is humble-bragging about _him_.

Costia raises a questioning eyebrow. “Oh, so you’re a writer?”

It seems as if she is truly interested in his books if the fact that they spend almost an hour talking about them is anything to go by. Bellamy is thrilled, honestly, but all that falls through when Lexa directs her attention towards them again.

“So, how long have you two officially been together?”

They chime “Since October” in unison and Bellamy tries to ignore a wave of fondness when Clarke smiles at him like this is a normal thing they do.

“Since October,” she says again. “Trivia night, big fight that knocked some sense into our heads, you know how it goes.”

“I remember those,” she smiles wryly as Costia flutters away in a true manner of a social butterfly she is. Bellamy likes her. He still doesn’t like Lexa, not after what she’d done to Clarke.

But something is up and Bellamy knows it because Clarke averts her gaze from Lexa as she mutters, “Yeah, well.”

There is something he’s missing but he drops it because Lexa speaks again. Tonight she’s full of questions, as opposed to what he remembers of her – quiet, stoic, speaks rarely and doesn’t mince words.

When she poses a question, Bellamy realizes that she is still not in favor of mincing words.

“And are you planning on getting married?”

Clarke tenses up next to him and her eyes flicker towards him. She can come up with a reply, but Bellamy is talking before he’s even aware of it.

“I don’t think it’s a matter of planning. Clarke is the one for me and that’s the absolute truth. That’s the only thing that makes sense,” he looks at her and sees her eyes widen, lips parting in a small ‘o’. “Marriage or no marriage, Clarke is the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. There is nothing else.”

It comes out in a flurry of words and he isn’t even thinking about it, it’s the truth. Lexa stares at him, a little stunned, and he knows he should be confused too but he isn’t – he’s so sure of his words and they bring a perfect calm.

Then he looks at Clarke and his heart is too weak for what he sees because her whole face is lighting up as she beams at him.

She pecks his cheek and he thinks yes, he is so far gone for this girl but he can’t regret a thing.

“Well, if that’s the case,” Lexa presses out, a little breathless, “I wish you all the luck in the world.”

 

Clarke twists and turns on the bed next to him and he loves her but he can’t handle this. Honestly, Bellamy doesn’t even understand how is it even possible that someone as small as Clarke can shake the whole bed while trying to get comfortable.

Well, they do say that poison is kept in small bottles.

“Would you _please_ get comfortable and go the fuck to sleep already?” he groans, turning to his side to look at her.

“I would if I _could_ get comfortable,” she hisses, turning again. “This bed is so fucking huge and the mattress is lumpy and -”

“Is there a pea bothering you, Princess?” Bellamy quips and she swats his shoulder, irritated.

“You’re so rude!”

She scoffs when she turns her back on him again. “There, talk to my ass because my face doesn’t want to hear it.”

“Fine. Your ass is my favorite part of you anyways.”

Bellamy feels her still and then she turns again. The moonlight illuminates her face just right for him to see how serious her eyes are all of a sudden.

“You know you’re my best friend, right?”

He’s not sure where this is coming from but he nods. “You’re mine, too.”

“Good.”

Two minutes pass, two minutes in which he managed to close his eyes and absorb the sudden quiet because she wasn’t moving, and then he hears her.

“What do you think who would win in a fight between a griffin and dragon?”

“Fuck, Clarke, can’t you just –“

“Because I feel inclined to cheer for the griffin, obviously, but dragons have _fire_.”

“That’s it,” he announces, opening his eyes to look at her. She’s staring at the ceiling with her hand slung over her forehead. “Just get over here.”

He raises his arm, motioning for her to come closer and settle next to him. She seems to consider the proposition and then shakes her head.

(Bellamy really, _really_ tries to ignore the primal instinct of fleeing after the rejection.)

“Fine, have it your way. Just stop flailing.”

“I’m the big spoon, Bellamy. Turn around,” she waves her hand, gesturing that he should turn and he laughs but complies.

In a second, he feels her arms wrapping under his shoulders, her left leg coming to rest on his and her face is buried in the crook of his neck. Her warm breath right on his ear should bother him and her hair tickles his nose but he can’t help a small, contented smile.

Clarke Griffin is warm and comfortable and wrapped around him. This is it, he has died and went to heaven.

“This is good,” she declares, patting his hair. “You’re a very comfortable pillow, Bellamy.”

“Thank God. Now I can finally stop writing and start doing this professionally.”

Clarke chuckles right into his ear. “Go the fuck to sleep already.”

And he does.

 

When he wakes up in the morning, she’s still pressed to him and snoring loudly into his ear. It’s oddly endearing but then again, everything about her is.

He’s careful when untangling himself from her, her right leg somehow between his legs and her left still resting on his hip. When he moves away, Clarke frowns in her sleep and tugs at his shirt.

“Back. Warm.”

It’s reckless and it’s absolutely uncalled for but he kisses her forehead, covering her again. It is only then that the frown disappears and she turns around with a small smile, resuming her snoring.

She sleeps until ten and by that time Bellamy has already brewed coffee and settled on the terrace with his laptop. The words flow more easily today and he finds himself completely absorbed in the fictional world that always felt more real than the one he lives in.

That’s how he started writing, really. As a kid, the only thing that took him away from the misery of his life were books and he’d devoured them. Library card was the closest you could get to experiencing a life better than your own and somehow writing felt like a natural follow-up.

The main character of his book, Charlotte, is just about to stop someone from slaying a dragon when the terrace door slides open and Clarke appears.

Her hair is messy, as if she slept in a perpetual hurricane, and her eyelids are still heavy but she stumbles over to where he’s sitting and she must not know what she’s doing because she plants a kiss to his cheek.

“Coffee?”

Bellamy nods towards an already cold mug of coffee across from him. Clarke Griffin takes her coffee hot, cold and anything in between as long as there’s enough caffeine in it.

“You’re the best,” she yawns and settles in the chair by the mug, wrapping her fingers around it as she lifts her legs to rest on the railing.

It is an absolutely normal scene, Clarke drinking her coffee and Bellamy writing, something that has happened many times before, but in the warm sunlight, with her shirt slipping off of her shoulder and her eyes studying the vineyards in front of them, there is something so unbearably beautiful.

His heart swells with affection and sinks with sadness because this is what he can’t have. He can’t have kissing her because she’s brilliant and amazing and cute and beautiful and absolutely everything he can dream of. He can’t have her because she is Clarke and the thought of falling for him probably never even occurred to her, but he still can’t stop himself from hoping.

Because he is Bellamy and she is Clarke and they were never meant to be.

 

**

 

She returns to the room with a bottle of wine in hand, still in her pale yellow dress from the luncheon, and looks at him with a dark look in her face.

“Can you help me hide a body? You’re a writer, you know how to, right?”

“You know what I like about you, Clarke?” he asks in reply.

“Everything?”

“Yes,” he grants, “but also how our friendship is you coming up to me with weird-ass questions.”

Clarke grins. “And wine.”

Bellamy takes the bottle from her, pours them two glasses and then motions for her to join him on the bed. “So, what happened?”

Clarke lets out an exasperated sigh before downing the wine in one swift move and plopping the glass on the nightstand.

“Anya happened.”

Bellamy frowns. “The intimidating best friend? What’d she say?”

“I don’t know, a bunch of shit about me not respecting Lexa and the nerve I had coming here. Which – she _invited_ me. _She_ broke up with me.”

Clarke looks perplexed and Bellamy nudges her shoulder with his. “I _do_ know how to hide a body, at least in theory.”

“I knew there was a reason why I kept you around.”

“Come on, I know you’re just angling for my book to be dedicated to you.”

“That, too,” she smiles and then sighs again, resting her head on his shoulder. “Three hours until the wedding.”

“Think we can get drunk by then?”

When she looks up at him there is nothing if not resolution in her eyes. “Challenge accepted.”

 

They manage to get drunk and that’s why they’re giggling all the way to the garden where the wedding is to be held. Anya glares daggers their way, causing Bellamy to throw a protective hand over his slightly inebriated best friend and glare back. He’s obviously lacking the heat because Anya just rolls her eyes and flips him off.

Except for that, everything is gorgeous and both of them break down crying by the time Lexa and Costia are done with their vows. They’re both wearing gorgeous wedding dresses and even though it’s weird to see Lexa _beam_ , somehow it makes sense.

“I’m just really happy for them,” Clarke presses out through tears and accepts the handkerchief Bellamy hands her. “They look so happy.”

A lot of happiness to go around, obviously, if Clarke wrapping Lexa and Costia in a hug is anything to go by. Bellamy mostly just stands at the sidelines and smiles like an absolute dork because Clarke was worried about how this was going to go and now there’s nothing but honestly good wishes and hugs.

Lexa starts crying after Costia gives her speech and it’s all a bit surreal but Bellamy is not complaining. Neither is Clarke after Bellamy returns from the bar and finds her talking to Lexa.

The guests are scattered across the dance floor and Costia is currently dancing with her brother as her wife sits in Bellamy’s seat, rubbing her ankles and looking earnest as she talks to Clarke.

Clarke, on the other hand, looks somewhat surprised but not in a bad way.

“So now you know,” Lexa smiles at her, waving Bellamy over when she notices that he’s stopped to give them some privacy. “I hope you are not angry anymore.”

Clarke shakes her head. “I’m – no, Lexa,” she finally sighs. “I’m really not angry anymore. I’m sorry.”

Lexa places a hand on her shoulder before smiling at her again. “Nothing to be sorry for. I’m happy and I hope you are too.”

Clarke’s hand reaches up to Lexa’s and squeezes briefly before the latter turns to leave. Bellamy watches her walk away to reunite with Costia on the dance floor and this is why he loves weddings – they are honest, if they are between two people who truly love each other.

They make him want to be honest as well.

But it’s not a good idea, no matter what anyone might say, and so he simply hands Clarke her champagne flute.

“Everything alright?”

“Yes,” she answers after a while, worrying her lower lip as she looks up to meet his eyes. “Everything is fine.”

And, in the end, why wouldn’t it be? The food is amazing, the wedding has an open bar and it’s not long before the two of them are sitting underneath their table and giggling like a pair of school kids.

“Ssh!” Clarke presses a finger to her mouth, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “They’ll catch us!”

“Who’ll catch us, Clarke?”

“The _pirates_.”

There are no pirates in the garden, however, and by nightfall that’s where the two of them are. At some point they decided it would be for the best to stop drinking and now they’re slowly coming to their regular, sober selves.

The only exception being that they’re still a bit tipsy and sitting on the grass, leaning against a tree trunk and reminiscing the olden days.

“Do you remember when you had to come pick me and Octavia up?” Clarke asks him, a spark gleaming in her eye and how could he ever forget?

“You two woke me up at 5AM because you wanted _pancakes_.”

“It didn’t sound so unreasonable at the time,” Clarke protests. “Besides, who’s the one who drove you to the hospital after you sprained your wrist opening a jar of Nutella? At 2AM on a finals night. In my _pajamas_!”

That’s what happens when your best friend was also your sister’s college roommate, and when you are an older brother. Not that Bellamy minds, no. All of the things they’ve been through might have been a pain at first but in the end, he’d always remember them with nothing but fondness.

“You cried, Clarke,” he reminds her.

She punches his shoulder, annoyed. “I thought you were going to die!”

“Because of a sprained wrist?”

“Because you’re an idiot who doesn’t know how to ask for help.”

“That’s why I have you,” he smiles.

He’s expecting her to reply in their usual teasing fashion but she doesn’t. Instead, she keeps quiet, staring off into distance and Bellamy is just about to start worrying when she snaps her head towards him.

It’s intense, the way her eyes bore into his, and it might be because all of the romcoms he’d seen but he has a feeling that this is what they call ‘looking at someone for the first time’.

There is a lot in that look he can’t read but he doesn’t miss the way Clarke’s eyes dart towards his lips and it might be champagne, it might be euphoria but he’s had it.

“Fuck it.”

Her eyes return to his just as he leans forward, tilting his head and finally presses his lips to hers. There is a moment in which his brain short-circuits because it’s overwhelming – he is kissing Clarke and shit, when she freezes he knows he shouldn’t have done it.

It’s only a second before he moves away but it’s enough for Clarke’s expression to turn to shocked, a little incredulous, and he stands up as fast as he can.

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Bellamy-“

“No, you don’t have to say anything,” he interjects, feeling the blood rush into his cheeks and he tries to look at anything except Clarke. He can’t take it, not today, not this time. “I’m sorry, I thought I could do this but I can’t.”

It’s over, he knows as he walks away from her and pushes through the crowd in the hall. She doesn’t want him and it’s clear as daylight, he was stupid for even thinking that there might be anything to hope for.

The first thing he wants to do is call Octavia and tell her that it’s her fault but he knows it isn’t. It’s just that everything – from the way she snuggled up to him and pecked his cheek to waking up tangled in her – it is all too much and he thought he could handle it but in the end, he can’t.

And that’s what it is – he can’t handle this and he feels like the biggest asshole in the whole world as he throws his suitcase on the bed and starts packing. Clarke probably won’t ever want to see him and she’ll see through “I was drunk, I’m sorry” bullshit.

Besides, he doesn’t want to lie to her. She deserves better. Better than a best friend who is in love with her and doesn’t even have the guts to behave like a decent person.

He’s folding his shirt and storming through the room when the door opens.

Clarke looks surprised, sad, annoyed, angry – everything mixed up and he knows that’s his fault. For all of his talk about wanting to make her happy, the only thing he did was piss her off.

“What are you doing?” she demands, stepping in and closing the door behind her.

“I’m sorry, I’ll leave. Don’t worry about it. We can talk in New York if you’d like but I’ll understand if you never want to talk to me again.”

Now there’s only one thing he can see – confusion as her brows furrow. “Never talk to you again? What the _fuck_?”

He shrugs, throwing the shirt into his suitcase and proceeding to do the same with his pajamas. Clarke is standing in the middle of the room and he’s not looking at her, can’t really deal with being such an asshole to someone who is his best friend.

And then he hears her high heels clacking on the floor and he’s just about to throw in his toiletries bag when her hands slam his suitcase shut.

“Do you know why I chose the trivia night?” she asks, staring resolutely at him. He can only blink at her and to that she responds by sighing. “Because that’s when I first started thinking I might be in love with you.”

He doesn’t know what to say, his heart is thrashing against his ribcage and he’s trying not to hope, let it be known that he doesn’t want to be that asshole twice but –

“Do you know why Lexa left?”

Writing. That’s what he does for a living. Words should come easy to him but now he has none.

“She left because she thought I could never love her, not when I’m in love with you and you are in love with me, and we don’t even see it.”

He wants to say something, anything, but he just stares at her, frozen in motion with his fingers tight around his toiletries bag. Pathetic, really.

Clarke lets go of his suitcase and sits next to it, her hands clasped in her lap when she looks up at him with a small, wistful smile.

“Well, now I do.”

He’s still gaping like a fish when she toes off her shoes and climbs up on the bed, reaching out for him. “Come here?”

He is Bellamy Blake and she is Clarke Griffin and at the end of the day, he can’t say no to her. And so he drops the stupid bag he’s been holding on to like it’s his lifeline and climbs up to sit next to her.

“You’re in love with me?”

Clarke chuckles a little bitterly. “Have been for quite some time.”

His heart is doing somersaults in his chest and a smile tugs on his lips until he can’t even stop it anymore. Doesn’t want to, really.

“So if you don’t mind,” she continues, meeting his eyes, “I’d like to repeat that kiss.”

“I can imagine worse things,” he grants with a grin and she punches him in the shoulder again but there’s no heat to it. The only thing there is heat to is their kiss when she decides she’s had it with him and tackles him.

Bellamy protests only when she’s made sure that he’s thoroughly kissed and aware of what she feels for him.

“You didn’t have to _tackle_ me, Clarke.”

She rolls her eyes, fond. “You were taking too long.”

 

**

 

The airport security nearly drags Octavia away after she sees the two of them holding hands at the airport and breaks out into a victory dance that sends two people flying to the floor.

Well, it’s a chicken/victory dance, to be fair, but Bellamy doesn’t care. Clarke has been smiling at him since the night of Lexa’s wedding, Octavia is laughing at them and really, he can’t imagine anything better than this.

 

(His next book, however, _is_ dedicated to Clarke and the incredulous look on her face is even better than her smile.)

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I feel like I have to say that the moment Clarke tells Bellamy that he's her best friend is from TSwizzle's You Are In Love because there are no boundaries to my obsession with that song. Good, I'm glad we're all clear on that. 
> 
> Other than that - I hope you liked it and if you did, please remember the dynamic duo: kudos & comments because yes, and I am a big enough person to admit it, I squeal every time I read your lovely comments and I'm still surprised by your kindness. Basically, all of you are awesome and I'm just here poking you with a straw and saying: "Go read my fics."
> 
> If you want to send me prompts or a message or just see me crying about Bellarke (and HP and TRC and the list goes on), my tumblr is right [here](http://marauders-groupie.tumblr.com) .


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